A mother's lament

Dear Timothy,

Shortly after you turned one, the world stopped. All because of a tiny - yet powerful - virus.

It feels like we’ve been waiting for things to start moving again ever since.

The virus may not have affected our family as badly as others, but it has still taken a toll. When the shutdowns/lockdowns/stay at home orders started, I honestly felt disoriented, anxious, depressed, and I wonder if this was how the world was going to end. I'm sure you sensed how I was feeling and heard your Papa and I talking things through. We stayed inside more, you played alone a lot, and you didn't get to know your cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents - as well as our friends - as well as we would have liked. As a result, you're uneasy around big crowds, and you really don't like it if a stranger gets too close. And you're still trying to figure out how to interact with people closer to your own size. 

But at the same time, I'm thankful that you likely won't remember much about this past year. I'm also thankful that you have been able to find reasons to really laugh and ways to enjoy yourself, without the playgrounds, swimming pools, library programs, and other kids. You also bring joy to your Papa and I, even for just a moment at a time. I'm grateful that you have a sense of curiosity, a desire to learn and to try new things; it reminds me that, though there are may not-so-good things happening right now as a result of the Virus That Shall Not Be Named, life goes on. And that's a good thing. You're growing, both physically and mentally, and that didn't stop when the world did. Sure, things may not be the way we want them to be, but that doesn't mean we can't sometimes find joy in the hardship.

Life is hard, Not-So-Little-One. It doesn't always go smoothly. It's a lesson you haven't had to learn yet, and hopefully you won't have to learn for a while. Maybe in the meantime, we can learn a thing or two from you about how to handle life's difficulties. I'm constantly amazed at how, when you're frustrated because you can't do something, you show it, but then you try again. And when you finally succeed, you celebrate it, so that we all know you did it! I love the way you are able to re-direct your energy and attention when it is clear you cannot move forward, and you find joy in a new thing. One of my favourite things about you is your belly laugh, and it always results from the simplest things: a ball that was thrown high into the air comes crashing down; Mama and Papa are pretend-sneezing over and over again; you crash into the wall with your trike, and I say, "Bonk!"

You are tenacious, you are flexible, and you find joy in the small things. You're already a champion overcomer of life's challenges. I hope and pray you won't lose that as you get older.

Love always,

Mama.

Biracial

Dear Timothy,

If we were to look at the cells in your body, we would see that you are half your Mama and half your Papa. And in that way, you are just like every other child that was ever born in this world. Although you may look more like your Papa or like me (it's a little unclear at this point), in the end you are a perfect and equal mixture of the two of us. 

But there's something unique about you, something that, although it happens more and more often these days, seems ... different to some people.

You see, Papa and I are not of the same race. This means a few different things, but the bottom line is we don't look "the same."

We both have two arms, two legs, two eyes, a nose and a mouth. We have hair on our heads, hearts in our chest, and everything else that a human being has. So we both look human, and we both are human. 

But we don't look "the same". Our skin isn't the same colour, although it's pretty close. Neither is our hair colour. And certain parts of our bodies are shaped differently. 

I know, I know. Everyone looks different. Two people with the same skin colour can have different sized noses, and different hair colours. But there are certain body part shapes and hair colours and textures - called traits - that, when combined with a certain skin colour, usually mean you are part of a specific race. And for many, the idea of race is a big deal, which it is, because with race often comes language, culture, and traditions, which make up a really rich heritage and form a part of who we are. But some have made an even bigger deal out of race. Such a big deal, in fact, that some races have thought - and still think - of themselves and others like them as much more important than others who are different, and treat those "inferior races" accordingly. 

That's putting it lightly, yes. Many, many horrible things have happened - and continue to happen - as a result of this way of thinking. Broadly speaking, this is called racism. In due time, we'll talk more about racism and its results, you and I, when the time is right.

But back to your Papa and I being of different races. This means something special for you. You, my love, are biracial.

"Bi" means "two" and "racial" obviously refers to race. You are a person of two races. It's what happens when two people of two different races - like your Papa and I - have a child together. 

As a result, you fit into two different race categories, but you don't look fully like one or the other. Think of it like mixing paint: if you mix blue and yellow, you get green; red and blue, you get purple; yellow and red, you get orange.

We believe you are the cutest baby we have ever seen. And plenty of people agree with us, so it isn't just our bias.  But unfortunately the world likes to put people in boxes, and at first glance it isn't quite clear which box you fit into. I imagine that you will often be asked, "What are you?" as you grow up.

I'll tell you right now: you are Timothy. You are my son. You are my race, and you are your father's race. It isn't one or the other, as far as we're concerned. What you choose to accept from either of us, from either of our cultures, is completely up to you.

I've had some wonderful reactions to you, people who have been overjoyed to find out you are biracial. Your grandmother loves to say that her grandchildren are the United Nations. It's all beautiful to see and hear, because it tells us that there is an acceptance and an appreciation of the mixing of races.

Unfortunately, even though we live in a pretty accepting country, there may also be some people who won't react well to you, simply because of the way you look. There may also be some people who will have racist ideas or make assumptions about us as a family, and/or specifically about you. They may assume you are good at something when you aren't, or that you are not good at something when you are, simply because of one of your racial identities. As a result, you may not get the help you want/need because someone makes an assumption about your abilities; "All [members of a certain race] are good at [subject/sport/activity]. He's fine!". And these same people may view you as something ugly or wrong, simply because you are the child of a mixed race couple.

And they will always be wrong.

You know who else was biracial? Your namesake. Yes, that's right; Timothy in the Bible had a Greek father and a Jewish mother. Check out Acts 16:1 if you don't believe me. 

I have absolutely no idea if you could tell he was biracial just by looking at him, or if he faced discrimination or hardship because of it. But what I do know is that someone (The Apostle Paul) saw something other than Timothy's racial identity: his sincere faith (2 Timothy 1:5). Paul took Timothy under his wing, and Timothy became an important leader in the early church as a result.

My son, your racial identity is important and says something of who you are, and I do want to celebrate that with you. But remember: it's not ALL of who you are. Don't let what others think or say about you define who you are or what you accomplish.

Love,

Mama

Time flies

Dear Timothy,

How is even possible that a year has already passed since you were born? Some of the memories of the night of your birth are still so vivid ...

I remember the moment I first laid eyes on you. Honestly, one of my first thoughts was that you looked so dazed - with good reason; your entry into the world wasn't an easy one. And while I'm being honest, I should probably tell you that I was pretty dazed, too, also with good reason.

Still, we all (Papa, you and I) made it through. And then some.

We made it through the NICU stay. Through the feeding challenges. Through all the health scares. Through the sleepless nights, full diapers, poopaloozas, bumps and bruises ...

And the child who has emerged is attentive, inquisitive, smiley, talkative, and oh so chill.

I wish I had a photographic memory so that I can always remember how, for the first couple months, your hair would stick up all over the place after a bath. Or how you pump your legs when you're excited. I want to remember what you looked like when you gave me your first gummy, dimply smile. I want to remember how determined you were to stand up in your crib that first time. And how you somehow always managed to get your little arm out of your swaddle and would wave it around while crying for food.

I don't want to forget how you are so excited to see me when I come get you after a nap.

Life is made up of moments. And I want to remember them all because those moments are fleeting.

Life as I knew it has changed forever since you came into our lives. We - your Papa and I - have been changed ... for good. And we are so glad you are here.

Happy Birthday, Little One. It's time to celebrate YOU! And in a small part us, because we kept you alive. That deserves some serious celebrating, too!

Love always,

Mama.

I'm learning, too...

Dear Timothy,

You are amazing. Full stop. You figured out early enough how to hold your own bottle. You crawl everywhere and get into some pretty tight spaces. You can pull yourself up. You know how to chew food - even with so few teeth. You smile and laugh like crazy, and you're a cute little mimic when you want to be. And you make some really fun sounds.

But there's one thing you haven't learned yet: to wait patiently for your food. The whole eating thing is something that we do at least 3 times a day, if not more. It's always the same routine: I pop you in your high chair, tie a bib around your neck and give you some puffs to chew on while I prep the rest of your food. You know this; you've done this so many times. But you get so anxious to eat that you start making noise. Sometimes you scream, and other times you cry. And once I start feeding you, it's like the food can't come fast enough, so you start screaming/crying between bites. It's like I'm starving you or you've never eaten before in the almost full year since you were born.

Impatient much? The food is coming; it has always come. And it will continue to come whenever I put you in your high chair.

One day recently, I asked myself how a child as smart as you could so easily forget that the food will always come. After all, you can recall how to make noise with the door stopper, you can put food in your own mouth with about 85% accuracy, and you know that your reflection is your reflection and not another baby. So what's so different when it comes to food?

That's when I heard it: "You do the exact same thing."

I knew exactly whose Voice that was, and I knew exactly what He meant.

Timothy, your Papa and I are finding ourselves in a place of unknowns right now. Decisions will need to be made at some point, but other pieces need to fall into place first, and we need more information.

So we wait.

We've both been here before, Papa and I. And every single time, things have worked out so much better than we could have imagined, because we believe in a God who looks out for us and helps us. And yet, every single time I even remotely sense there's an unknown on the horizon, my go-to is to worry, as if God has never come through for us before.

Whether we like it or not, we are human. And forgetful. But the neat thing is that God is patient. He will continue to work things out for our good (Romans 8:28), whether or not we believe it.

And yes, I will continue to feed you. Well, until you figure out how to feed yourself; then you're on your own.

Love always,

Mama.

New Baby, Sad Mommy

Dear Timothy,

The other day, I came across a series of books, one of which was called New Baby, Sad Mommy. It talked about what moms go through when they have a baby in kid-friendly language, and it got me thinking again about all that I've been though in the past 10 or so months since you arrived.

You know, I am so thankful that you are such an easy-going, chill child. I'm also thankful that you probably won't remember the first few months of your life, with the exception of who your mama and papa are.

Your arrival was highly anticipated and a joyful event. Translation: you were wanted before you were born, and your birth made many people very happy...

Many people, that is, except me.

It's not that I didn't want you; I did. Both your father and I wanted you, and we worked hard to get you here (that's a story for when you are much, much older). And it's not that I didn't want to be happy; I did want to be happy. But my body and my mind went through so many changes while you were growing inside of me and during your birth that my body needed some time to heal and recover. So being happy while I was healing was really hard.

One thing I want to make clear is that it wasn't your fault. I don't blame you in the slightest for what I went through. My body just didn't handle the pregnancy or the delivery super well, and so I struggled for a while. But I did my best to feed you when you were hungry, keep you warm when you were cold and comfort you when you were upset. I did the best I could in those first few months, but it wasn't easy.

You may be little, but you already know what it's like to not have something feel quite right. Sometimes it's a fever as your body fights off a virus or reacts to a needle. Other times, a tooth is coming in and causes you pain. Or maybe you're too warm or too tired, or else your stomach needs to be filled. You might not know or understand what's going on, but you know something's off and you're uncomfortable.

You might think I can do anything and that I know everything, but you'll soon discover that I can't and I don't. And I certainly didn't fully know what was going on inside of me after you were born. Like you, I just knew something wasn't right.

But unlike you, I needed a long time to figure things out and to feel better again. There was no adult version of cuddles, Motrin and food to quickly soothe me. I talked with a lot of different people, I took some meds, I prayed when I could, and I slept. I slept a lot. You and I used to nap together until one of us started kicking instead of sleeping.

As it turns out, time was one of the biggest healers for me. I think it was sometime a few weeks ago where I was able to identify that I had had a few good days in a row, and that something was different. I was more ... me.

And that meant I could enjoy you more and more, and become a better mama to you.

And that's what I'm trying to do now.

We'll keep on figuring out this mama-son thing, you and I, together.

Love always,

Mama

Mary, did you know?

Dear Timothy,

I started reading through Luke during Advent. I didn't make it all that far and Christmas has come and gone. But that doesn't mean I haven't learned a thing or two. I believe that if you willingly and earnestly engage in God's word, however irregularly, He is faithful and gives you insight.

I want to tell you a bit of what I learned from Mary, the mother of Jesus.

Mary is a Jew who has, up until this point, a pretty good - albeit poor - life. She's betrothed to Joseph. This means she's going to marry him at some point in the future. And this, along with having children, basically ensures that she will have a decent life.

When an angel visits Mary and tells her that she will become pregnant with the Son of God, even though she is a virgin, here is her response:

“I am the Lord’s servant ... May your word to me be fulfilled.” Luke 1:38

These words are heavy with meaning, and in a sense she is basically throwing her life away. Let me give you a bit of context.

Mary is a Jew who lives in a society with a lot of very strict laws. A good number of them surround sexual activity, but the ones we are most concerned with here involve who a person can have sex with. There's only one correct answer: their spouse. Mary and Joseph are not yet married, so Mary is a virgin and expected to stay that way until their wedding night. And according to the laws of nature, there is only one way a woman can get pregnant. So when her family and friends find out that she's pregnant, they'll come to one of two conclusions: either 1) Mary and Joseph have slept together, or 2) Mary has been unfaithful to Joseph and slept with someone else. I mean, up until that point, no one had ever even heard of a virgin getting pregnant. A married woman way past childbearing years suddenly finding herself pregnant had happened before (see the story of Abraham and Sarah). But someone who had never even been with a man? Nope. No precedent for that. Therefore, when her community discovers that Mary is pregnant, everyone will think she is lying to save herself.

And boy, will she need saving. A woman who finds herself pregnant out of wedlock in Jewish society at that time will be, at the very least, shunned and excommunicated by her family and friends, and, at the very worst, she faces death by stoning.

But here's what is interesting. Knowing full well what will most likely happen, and even before she learns that Joseph will stand by her, Mary utters the phrase mentioned above: "May your word to me be fulfilled." In other words, "I accept what you tell me; I'll get pregnant and bear God's child. No doubt it will be hard, but I'll do it anyway."

There's really only one logical explanation for Mary's acceptance of the angel's words: her faith in God is so strong that she accepts what she is told, regardless of the consequences she will undoubtedly face.

The really neat thing is that God doesn't leave Mary all alone. After an angel visits him, Joseph decides to marry Mary after all. Also, if you look closely at the words the angel uses when talking with Mary, you'll notice that he mentions her cousin Elizabeth is pregnant in her old age (see Luke 1:36). Here's an older relative who is also experiencing a miraculous pregnancy. So almost as soon as the angel disappears, Mary hightails it over to Elizabeth's and this is where she spends the first few months of her pregnancy. Here, Mary's story is believed. Here, she is cared for, she is appreciated and loved on. And here, Mary's faith is affirmed. In fact, Mary's faith is so strong that she composes her own song praising God while visiting her cousin (see Luke 1:46-55).

I find the timing of Mary's visit with Elizabeth interesting. It's as if she realizes that she's about to face all kinds of problems and needs to prepare herself for it, so she spends time with someone who is experiencing a similar miracle and who will believe her unbelievable story. And consider this, too: Mary arrives at Elizabeth's when the latter is 6 months pregnant. She stays for 3 months, which means she is most likely there when Elizabeth gives birth. It's already impressive that a woman past childbearing years gives birth, but the story around Elizabeth's pregnancy and delivery has some other miraculous twists, including yet another angel's visit (see Luke 1). Mary probably sees it all.

Can you imagine what a faith booster that is for Mary? When she gets back to her own family and friends, life will become very difficult. But at least she'll have what she experienced and saw while at her cousin's to remind her of God's faithfulness and power.

Bear with me as I mention the obvious here: Mary's faithful following of God's leading results in the birth and raising of an incredible boy into a man who makes a resounding, positive impact, not only on the society around him, but on the world as a whole.

And that's putting it mildly.

So here's what I want you to understand from this, Timothy: faith sometimes means going against what others say or believe. It means following God, regardless of the consequences. And believe me, there will be consequences. And, like Mary, you may not see the results of your steps of faith. This is why it's important to find people who will support and believe in you in the tough times. Because it's those people who will have your back and remind you of God's faithfulness.

I share this with you, because I need to remember this, too.

Maybe some day, we can remind each other of this truth.

Love,

Mama.

A baby in a manger

Dear Timothy,

I often end up reflecting on your arrival into this world.  It was an intense, painful and scary time, but we all came through it. We had lots of people helping us through this time - sometimes too many - and as a result, though you and I were battered and bruised, we slowly healed.

But today I want to think about another birth, one that took place almost 2000 years ago. One whose arrival was marked with joy in the heavens, as angels sang to shepherds in the field and a star shone in the sky for astronomers in a far away land. 

But here on earth, things were very different. When you were born, Timothy, you were surrounded by at least 3 obstetricians, a pediatrics team, a few nurses, an anesthesiologist, a doctor, AND your papa. I was drugged up so I couldn't feel much pain. Everyone wore gloves, masks, gowns and hairnets. The room we were in was ridiculously clean and well-lit. 

As for that birth 2000 years ago, Here's what Scripture tells us about it:

While [Mary and Joseph] were [in Bethlehem], the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them. (Luke 2:6-7).

That's it. Nothing more is said. But there's so much that isn't said, and it is so telling!

Mary and Joseph placed their little newborn, not in a clean bassinet with fresh sheets, but in a manger. I don't know if you see the similarity between the noun "manger" and the French verb, well, "manger" (same word, different pronunciation. Moving on). In French, "manger" means "to eat". In English, a manger was a container of sorts that held food for animals. We would probably call it a trough today. This reference to a manger, combined with the fact that there was no guest room available for them, tells us that Mary and Joseph were housed with the animals. 

There were no drugs, no medical specialists, and no lights. No comfy bed. No clean linens. There were probably flies, fleas and who knows what other kinds of insects? No doubt there was animal poop - and straw - everywhere. 

And there were no family members.

I'll say this: giving birth is messy. Very messy. It's filled with all kinds of bodily fluids. And it is painful. And sometimes, there are complications. 

We know there were midwives in Bible times; the story of Moses' birth says as much (See Exodus 1:15). So there were some specially trained people who could help women give birth.

But not one midwife was present when Mary went into labour. And her husband, Joseph, was a carpenter by trade, which, in case you were wondering, does nothing to prepare him to bring new life into this world.

And after the birth? No one helped Mary's child to latch. No one was there to make sure she was healing properly. No one helped her go to the washroom and clean up, and tell her that what she was feeling and experiencing was normal. No one was there to take the child and bathe him. No one was there to hold the child to give the new parents a break from the crying baby.

And yet, and yet. The baby that was born that night was Jesus Christ, the son of God. He entered the world in the most humble way possible: as a baby, to the poorest of the poor, under the worst of circumstances.

He could have chosen to be born in Herod's palace, or as Caesar's child. Or even as the son of a Jewish priest. Surely Jesus could have affected the world in greater ways by being the son of a much more powerful person, couldn't He?

He could have, yes. After all, He is God. But He didn’t.

See that’s not at all how God operates. If you read the Bible closely, you will see that He always starts small, humbly, and works His way from there.

The first man was made from the dust on the ground.

Abraham and his wife were beyond the years where they could conceive a child, yet it was through them that God created His chosen people.

Moses was not a great public speaker, yet, with God’s help, he triumphantly led the enslaved Israelites out of Egypt.

Joshua was told he and the Israelites were to around the city of Jericho for 7 days, after which the walls came crashing down.

God chose Gideon, the least of his tribe, to lead the fight against the Midianites with an army that was a fraction of the size of that of their enemy. And the weapons of choice? Their voices, torches and clay pots.

Jesus was born to a virgin teenager who was almost abandoned by her betrothed and likely rejected by both her family and his. This is probably why Jesus ended up in a manger. Jesus lived a short yet surprisingly impactful life, and then died a tortuous death in the most vile way imaginable.

But oh, the ripple effects of that life and death extended far, far beyond the world Jesus lived in!

In church this morning, we were reminded that God didn't choose to make things good in the world and then come down. Rather, He came down and made things good. And not in the ways anyone expected, either.

Timothy, I enjoy your wide-eyed innocence and chill personality. I'm very proud and awed at how you face many new things with a curiosity and/or a huge smile. Right now, the only things that you really don't like are the vacuum cleaner, bathroom hand dryers and the aspirator (which we affectionately call the snot sucker). I hope and pray that this innocence and laid-back-ness is something you can hold on to for a very, very long time. However, I know that you will soon discover that there are so many terrible, horrible, no good, very bad things in this world, and that new awareness could very well throw you for a bit of a loop.

But hopefully your papa and I can teach you to see the good among the bad. May we three learn together to look on the bright side of life, to see the good things that God is giving or doing for us in the midst of all the not-so-good things in this world. 

After all, that's what Mary, the mother of Jesus, did. And I'm convinced that that's what got her through her terrible, horrible, no good, very bad situation.

But that, my love, is a letter for another day; this one is long enough.

Till next time,

Mama.